Shadow Assassins
by williewildcat
Summary: Kirill pursues an elusive assassin only to discover he's met his match as he pursues her across the globe learning along the way they are two sides of the same coin. Will he succeed in his mission? Not if his intrigue/attraction for her get in the way.
1. Prologue: Barcelona

_**A/N: **_I don't own anyone but my OC's….though I wished I owned the rest….*sighs*

Okay so I promised a certain reader (Skycord1990) that I would do a Bourne fic or rather mentioned I was thinking about it which led to this little gem….

Muse is being bad now….He won't stick to one fandom…..Bastard! Sorry if the title is bleh but the brain isn't working...

_Assassin - The killing of a person or persons, normally a high profile figure, often for political reasons. Can also be done for military, ideological, to gain financial means, or to avenge a grievance. _

_Shadow - Darkness or to follow covertly..._

The windows of the villa were swung wide open allowing the dry but appealing breeze roll off the Mediterranean Sea, rushing over the bare skin of the woman lying still on the simple bed. The curtains fluttered in the gentle air, dancing up and around like clouds giving a deceiving appearance to the scene. Her right shoulder was smothered in layers of thick white gauze which were compacted with wide strips of tape. Splotches of crimson and brown peeked through the top though beneath the surface a deeper shade of burgundy consumed the pristine white.

Her eyes were closed thanks in part to the heavy sedation which roamed her veins, blocking the agonizing pain of hours before. The plain alabaster walls were at peace yet hours before her agonizing screams had shattered the tranquility. The bloodstained shirt and jacket were nothing more than a pile of ash and strips, eliminating the evidence.

Kirill watched in silence with the Walther P99 resting on the stand, ready to go in an instant. The chase had brought them both to Barcelona where their paths had crossed with Jason Bourne's. The Russian knew it wasn't chance or dumb luck the American was there. It was his hand or rather compact sniper rifle that shredded her shoulder with one shot. Kirill had spotted the blonde assassin as his finger pulled back firing the waiting bullet. He had not been fast enough.

The whiskey did little to numb her agony as she drank then poured it over the gaping wound. Blood had mixed with dark mahogany spilling over her clothes and choking the air with iron, liquor, and gunpowder. The car ride had been literal Hell as each bump and jitter caused her let out a piercing scream. The moment he arrived at the wayward villa, she had already slipped behind the veil of unconsciousness, giving the irritated Russian the quiet his ears had ached for.

_No one gets to kill you….But me…_

He had repeated in his mind while haphazardly stitching the perfect circles on either side. After hunting her down across several countries and continents, there was no way someone else was going to covet his prize. They had a score to settle after all. Sure, he could put on bullet between her eyes right then and there. Cover her face with a pillow then press the muzzle to the thick encasement of down and cotton then pull the trigger. But what fun would that be? No, she had proven to be cunning and resourceful, ditching him in Bern, New Orleans, Johannesburg, and London before time had stepped over to his side.

_The dark alley provided the perfect camouflage for Kirill as she darted down the brick encased street. Their game of cloak and dagger had reached its climax as they stalked the other through the medieval and Roman infrastructure. Today she would die. _

_ "Comrade, I know you're here," she muttered under her breath. Her eyes continuously scanned above, below, and at her level, knowing her foe could have anything lying in wait. _

_ His handsome features only tightened deeper as concentration settled in. His sight had lined up the perfect shot. One bullet to her throat and it would all be over. _

_ "This is where we part my Black Hawk," he prepared to end it all but something made him look up to see Jason Bourne perched on the ledge of the adjacent building. The sniper rifle was trained on her as well! The American was too far for him to take the shot so Kirill charged from his hiding place catching her attention. _

_ She pivoted around with gun on the Russian not questioning why he was lunging for her. Before she could complete the shot, a loud pop cracked her ears. The pain had yet materialized as her body pumped nerve killing adrenaline, halting the first sensations of suffering. Kirill halted to see the white form hugging shirt turn bright red before his eyes. The rich cerulean rings turned dull and listless until all that remained was a pair of dirty sapphires. Her arms went limp releasing the Glock from her hold. It clattered against the ancient brick and stone. She dropped to her knees with eyes lifting towards the sky. _

_ "Bourne," she whispered before collapsing in the center of the road._

Several hours had past.

The sun dipped over the Western skies darkening the small room. Kirill finished off the last of the vodka, silently cursing the fact there was no more. Thoughts of killing his nemesis gathered like a spring storm, growing louder and larger with each minute that passed.

No, he wanted to revel in the thrill of the hunt, like times past before the fall of the Wall. The fear in his victims' eyes was a sweet reward as they pathetically pleaded and begged to be spared. They had families they would scream but Kirill could've cared less. His hearing tuned out the whimpers and shrieks only to resurface at the emergence of silence. Besides, this woman, Black Hawk, had demonstrated to be a worthy adversary. He had become intrigued by her though he wouldn't openly say it.

The Russian's thoughts were jolted at the first groan coming from his left. She was beginning to come around. Her side, the good side, shifted up supporting the injured part. Her left arm locked down on the mattress as her hips and legs granted leverage while her bottom carefully scooted back against the headboard. Her breathing was hitched but calm as her eyes darted down to the oozing dressings.

"Son of a bitch," she growled as the pain started to fill the severed fibers. "Bastard…."

"You are awake," Kirill stayed planted in the chair.

"No, I have sleep movement disorder. Of course I'm awake! You're a sharp one Comrade." Her voice was saturated with sarcasm. Kirill narrowed his eyes leaving two slits of rich chocolate stabbing towards her. She rolled her eyes then scanned the tiny but orderly room for anything to kill the pain.

"Got any whiskey? Or maybe some Codeine? I'd take a Vicodin at this point…."

"No," he flatly answered.

"Fine," she huffed and closed her eyes. "Wouldn't be the first time I had to ride out the pain."

She may have been debilitated by Bourne but her mouth had been left unscathed. Kirill simply stared at her as one eye opened in his direction. He knew that look as he had seen it cast upon his own features. The woman was observing, studying him. The wrinkles in her forehead were erased while her fingers drummed against the curvature of her torso. Her body pushed back into the pillows, getting comfortable in the narrow bed.

"Back there...At the villa...You could've left me for dead but you didn't...why?"

Her inquisitive tone caught the Russian off guard. Glints of confusion dotted her eyes, something that he interpreted as a weakness in some.

"Because I want to be the one who kills you first," his answer came with a tiny smirk.

"Take a number Comrade," she rebuffed. "Because there's a line ahead of you."

Her mouth broke into a bright grin which only goaded Kirill even further. She knew how to get under the man's skin.

**This is going to be a three part series and other Bourne figures will be popping up :) **


	2. Arc 1: Belgrade Part 1: Chaos

_**A/N: **_I don't own any of the Bourne characters…..Wish I did (well just two certain assassins) but oh well….

This chapter of Arc 1 is more of a set up but Kirill pops up I promise...Next update will have more of his hotness :)

* * *

**Belgrade, Serbia….Unknown time…..**

The snow had started to flutter in large fluffy flakes. Winter wasn't kind to the Balkans but she was used to extremes. Her time in the former Soviet Satellite States had acclimated her body to the unforgiving elements of the Russian landscape. This was balmy compared to the hostile winters in Warsaw or torments of white that blinded the countryside in Belarus.

Her eyes peered through the high powered binoculars as her target emerged from the flat. Her position on the top of the long neglected warehouse provided excellent cover for her to observe. By her side was the sniper rifle; Plan B as she called it. The job was routine: Seek out the target, devise his or her means of death then observe which afterwards she would be handsomely rewarded for her skills and services. Perhaps a little diversion somewhere warm was in order once this was taken care of. She had not been outside of Europe for little over a year now and already the beckoning of the Caribbean was singing in her ears.

"Come on," she whispered to herself. "That's it."

Her target, a prominent political leader, was leaving his flat and walking with his armed escort towards the waiting car. It was late model but sustainable nonetheless. Most political figures in the region traveled with a low profile what with all of the instability and warring factions that held centuries old grudges and very itchy trigger fingers.

Her eyes were disciplined, focused on the man that had publicly declared his beloved home would be free of the shackles of Iron Curtain and embrace the 21st Century including the idea of democracy and inclusiveness for all. It had not settled well with some as threats had been received from the fringe groups and ethnic minorities who feared the change.

The tight group calmly stepped inside while two guards stayed posted on either side of the vehicle. Too bad for them.

The driver inserted the key and cranked the ignition.

The explosion shattered windows for five blocks up and down the road. The ground shook like the fury of the gods while women and children screamed from the windows that had been blown out. The car flung into every direction, landing up to a quarter mile away from the point of impact. The explosion and flames consumed the six bodies encased in the vehicle while the blast wave had ripped the other two apart, sending their mangled corpses against opposite sides. Blood, bone, skin, and hair decorated the medieval stucco which only added to the agony below. Flaming debris crushed nearby cars sending pedestrians scurrying for cover. Some were caught in the hellish rain of fragments and shrapnel as their faces were marked with trails of crimson down and around their eyes noses and mouths. The acrid stench of burning flesh danced in a macabre waltz with gasoline, rubber, and leather sickening many who rushed out to see the destruction first hand. Panic flooded the street like a rising tide with confusion weaving in and out like a shark seeking its prey.

She grinned at her success and slipped away as the sirens screamed in the chaos of wails, shrieks and the deafening roar of the flames. No one noticed the slender woman with her hair neatly tucked up in the wool cap casually strolling down a random alley.

* * *

News of the assassination had Belgrade on edge. Many wept and mourned the loss of their rising star as many more took to the street in anger, demanding justice for their champion's murder. She had changed into tight jeans, very revealing black shirt, leather jacket, and knee high boots as she reached the nightclub. She was a chameleon, able to assimilate into her environment under duress. Her eyes scanned the mob of Serbian youth as they danced to the latest techno mix. The air was saturated with alcohol sweat and body odor as she remained along the outer wall and headed for the back rooms. The guard gave her the once over then jerked his head towards the curtain.

Without saying a word she entered the first VIP suite on the right and closed the door behind her. She slipped in the booth across from the man seated with a bag in front of him. She didn't ask who he was but knew he was part of the old regime that held a cold iron grip over the country.

"They were unable to recover any remains," he spoke in a clipped Russian accent. "They scraped off the two who stood outside the car. I must say I am impressed. I doubted your services."

"There was no reason to doubt my capabilities," her tone was tight and tense. "You hold onto the sexist notion that since I am a woman I wasn't up to the task. Your superiors never doubted me once."

He chuckled softly at her words.

"Well you must understand something," he stood up and slid in beside her, trapping her between the wall and his solid frame. His breath reeked of vodka while the tiny blood vessels across his nose created archaic webs and trails. Probably from excessive drinking in his more youthful years and beyond. His hand slipped up her arm, lightly kneading the clenched bicep and tricep before landing on her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed warning the man to back down but he didn't pay heed and instead dropped it on her upper thigh with fingers dipping along the inner part.

"Women are still viewed as weak and inferior to men in some regions, held in the same esteem as slaves." His voice was aloof in his view of the opposite sex. She was bristling inside at this asshole's arrogance and disregard for space.

"Well you must understand something," her lightning fast hands flicked the butterfly knife open stabbing the man in the center of his left thigh. The man hissed through gritted teeth to keep the other suites from hearing his painful shrieks.

"If you so much put a finger on me again, it won't be your thigh I stab," she snarled. "Do you understand me?"

The man hurried to get away from her, hitting his shin on the leg of the table for his frantic efforts. He shuffled back into his seat, eager to put distance between him and the woman. His blood stained hands shoved the bag at her, knowing it was one step closer to letting the bitch go.

She tore the bag open examining the stacks of bills inside. Brand new crisp 100 dollar bills were staring up at her through the dim red lighting. Her hands quickly searched around holding 20 stacks altogether. She knew if there was even one bill missing they would be sorry.

"It is all there I can assure you," he anxiously ascertained.

"Better be," she snapped the bag closed and flung it across her shoulder.

"Wait," he slipped the manila envelope across the table. His bloody fingerprints smeared the center of the file. "They have a second one for you and the fee will be double."

She sat back down and flipped the folder open. The black and white photo of a man with sandy blonde hair streaked with silver. His face was handsome but worn from years of hard living. Notes of his activities and habits were noted on an attached sheet of paper.

"You can find him at the Crystal Hotel about a mile north of here."

Her eyes shifted towards the pale frightened face glancing between her and the door.

"Fine," she huffed and shoved the file in the bag. He watched her petite physique saunter towards the door. Her hand curled around the knob as she paused for a moment. She could hear the man practically shaking in his booth as she blocked his exit. With a concealed grin she slipped through the door leaving the startled drunk alone.

She gripped the strap keeping the bag clutched to her chest. She headed down the dimly lit hallway crashing into a warm strong body feet from the exit. She stood back and shook her head coming face to face with the masculine wall of leather and denim. His eyes were piercing pools of rich chocolate while his dark hair was closely cut. She couldn't tell if it was black or dark brown thanks to the shitty lighting. He had high strong cheekbones which only accented the dark handsome features. She could see he was built by the shirt clinging to the impeccable torso and shoulders. The chords of tendons protruded as his jaw had tightened.

"Excuse me," she whispered in Serbian before making a hasty exit.

Kirill watched the small woman retreat out the back door and into the night. Her hair was jet black and draped just below her shoulders. The constricting jeans accentuated her lower body while the jacket concealed her upper torso. Her accent wasn't that of a native Serbian. Something told the Russian to move for the back door which his feet were already carrying him into the snowy night. The street lights above illuminated nothing for if she had left a trail it was already masked by a fresh layer of white.

His eyes scanned the alley but the mystery woman was gone.

His nostrils flared in irritation as he returned inside. The narrow yet heated corridor chased away the few spots of powder from his jacket. He located the suite and entered the slightly brighter room.

"I heard," he nodded in acknowledgment. Gretkov pressed his lips together saying nothing.

"It was a car bomb. Someone beat us to Datsyuk."

"How could they have known?"

"No matter now," Gretkov waved off the question. "You have another assignment."

The wiry expression peered through the wire rimmed glasses as the photo and agenda emerged from his jacket. Kirill examined the photo noting the man was staying at the Crystal Hotel. He was a scientist; a former Soviet microbiologist who worked on bioweaponry during the Cold War until the fall of the Soviet Union. Kirill didn't ask why this man was to be eliminated and simply slipped the info in his coat.

"Don't let me down Kirill."

Kirill said nothing and left Gretkov alone in the room. His fingers linked together with index fingers resting against his lips. Who had killed Datsyuk? It had to be a rival or someone he didn't know about. What if the Americans were onto him? No, Kirill wasn't sloppy when it came to covering their tracks. Perhaps it was a rogue…..

**TBC**


	3. Arc 1: Belgrade Part 2: Hunt

_**A/N: **_I don't own anyone but my OC's…..though I wished I owned the rest….*sighs*

**Oh holy Hell! I was so stalled then saw the Bourne Supremacy and part of the Bourne Ultimatum last night and the Muse got a shot of inspiration! Forgiveness!**

A few days later the city continued to walk the fine line between panic and grieving. The clouds lingered over the city like a dreary blanket which accentuated the atmosphere below. She had been waiting for several hours now as the snow started back up but lighter than a few nights before. Patience was her ally as she kept her eye fixed to the scope. The small cylinders of steel and glass were her second set of eyes in the latest mission to dispense death.

Her quarry had finally emerged from the Crystal Hotel after another hour in the swirling flakes of ivory.

"Time to move," she whispered to herself. Her eyes darted from roof to roof searching for any others or at the very least the local law enforcement agency which held a greater presence. The police scanner had crackled throughout the night with chatter from the higher brass and city officials. Her focus had been on her target, to determine what they knew if anything.

Now she approached the man and his wife with the umbrella casually gripped in her hand. The tip had been hollowed out and fitted with a trace amount of ricin; lethal with no known antidote but easy to create and conceal. She had to act fast but make it look like an accident. Too bad, she thought, he seemed like an attentive loving husband as he had an arm curled protectively around his wife's waist. The subtle crimson colored wig and contacts of chocolate concealed her identity from her victim. Her clothing was stylish preventing anyone from recalling anything unusual about her dress. Anonymity was key.

Kirill was perched on the rooftop with sniper rifle trained on the man. The pedestrians passing by were preventing him from getting the shot. He cursed in Russian for his misfortune but was patient nonetheless. The line of sight would open up. His stance never wavered as his target started towards the waiting car. No bodyguards were present yet perhaps that was the idea: Keep a low profile. Suddenly a commotion erupted below as a woman with crimson hair had stumbled and fell into his mark. The bodyguards had swarmed around her like the faithful little paid soldiers they were, obstructing her from his view. He couldn't hear the hurried exchange of apologies and gathering of loose possessions from the frozen concrete but once the crowd thinned and bodies were pulling apart from the clusterfuck below, Kirill noticed the woman gripping an umbrella as she made a hasty retreat without so much as looking back.

The Russian shook his head and attempted to take the shot but his target had already been ushered into the security of bulletproof steel and shatterproof glass and safely pulling away from the curb.

"Damn it," he growled. Kirill had started to pull back but paused and observed the woman saunter up the cobblestone street and towards a side alley. Her pace was slow and casual but there was something about this woman that struck him as odd. Something was off. Kirill raised an eyebrow while peering through the scope continuing to track the woman. Her ass was pretty nice beneath those form fitting jeans; it was as though they were a second layer of skin protecting the warm flesh from the bitter chill of the Balkan Winter. Instinctively the Russian blinked, maintaining a visual on his target as he struggled to think what was so familiar about her. As his eye followed her up the medieval street it dawned on him.

The club!

She had to be the woman that collided with him in the hallway! The one who vanished in the snow like a phantom in the night. And the confusion outside of the hotel just now wasn't some random encounter either. It had been staged. Kirill wondered with growing anger if she had also taken out the first mark a few days before.

Instantly the sniper rifle was secured and locked with a large hand enclosed around the handle. Kirill was mindful of the spits of ice as he darted down metallic steps then landing in the alleyway. His heart was pounding as the chase was on!

* * *

Her phone went off in her pocket and she groaned at the name that appeared on the id.

"It's been done. Now sit back and watch the fun."

She hung up not wanting to hear anymore from that pock marked drunken groper. She did what she set out to do and now payment would be due. If the stupid son of a bitch was smart he would be wearing Kevlar later on tonight. She quietly laughed at her own joke as her feet picked up to a confident stride. Now it was back to the hotel for a shower then off to meet her favorite drunk.

Her feet crunched against the new fallen snow which had increased in duration and size since her "encounter" with the second mark. It reminded her of home. She jerked her head with a short snap as allowing her mind to wander would sign her death warrant in this world. It had to stay focused and alert. It's one of the things that kept her alive.

Kirill kept sight of the woman as he tracked her towards the older part of the city. Her posture was tall, rigid….confident. Her head was up and level indicating she was continuously monitoring her surroundings while maintaining the cool façade of a local or tourist perhaps. His prey carried a certain about her as she continued her constant pace through the falling curtains of crystal. The beautiful flakes of delicate design landed against the curled locks of copper. Kirill knew it was a wig as the woman had shoulder length hair of midnight when they met in the club or rather collided.

She was three blocks from the hotel when her legs and feet locked at the corner. Her heart raced as the adrenaline bled into her veins, preparing her body to fight or fly. Someone was following her! Instead of going north her feet twisted in the heel deep layer of white and proceeded west. Kirill narrowed his dark brown pools and darted through the throngs of people, knocking a few to the side or against the wall as the woman was now racing through the crowd. She had to find a policeman. No such luck as the cars along the winding streets were lined with civilian vehicles. She had to get into a thicker crowd, one where she could get lost in the waves of faces and emerge from the surf of humanity as a new person.

Kirill growled and shoved several pedestrians out of his way as the woman rushed into the wall of religious believers and clergy. The Russian forgot it was a few days before the holiday and the Christmas observations were ongoing until then. It appeared his unnamed nemesis was quite resourceful; use the people as her shield. But then again he had utilized the same tactic when caught in a tight situation. But this minor setback didn't deter him and instead he pushed on, scanning the faces and hair of the throngs of praying masses. Most were crowned with rich dark chocolate or jet black tresses. The mindless chanting in Serbian only irritated the Russian as he neared the edge of the group. His feet thundered against the stone and snow as he emerged on the other side.

She saw him come out and silently cursed the bastard.

_Fine….We'll play a game…._

With one hand she gripped the front of the coppery mop and tugged it from her head. The silk strands of ebony cascaded over her neck and face, clashing with the cold unforgiving winter with a serene beauty. Her olive hinted skin seemed to glow as she stood there between the ancient buildings. The wig went into the nearest dumpster.

Kirill continued the tireless search for the mystery assassin, refusing to let her slip through his fingers. He took another approach.

She could see the gun peek from the leather coat with the random gusts of bitter wind. Not unusual for this part of the world where political, military, and social upheaval continued to occur on a semi regular basis. She checked her own weapon, a Browning Hi-Power, and vanished into the alley behind her. Her body crouched down behind an overflowing trash barrel; the stench of rotted putrid food and refuse penetrated her nose and eyes. But she willed her senses to shut out the offensive malodorous odors and ignore the burning in her calves and thighs. The unnatural position her body was locked in forced the fibers and nerves in her legs to twitch and ignite like someone had doused her very flesh in a bath of diesel then lit the match. Her lungs expanded with the deep rush of air, turning her mind's attention on the rhythmic expansion and decrease.

Kirill was one alley over, moving with the grace of a cat and poise of a gymnast. His footfalls were methodic and soft; a hunter's stride one would imagine.

_Where are you? _

The snow betrayed her trail as the alleyway yielded nothing recent or small for that fact. The windows on the sides of the buildings were immaculate or shuttered up to keep the howling winter at bay.

She closed her eyes and took another gulp of numbing air, keeping watch on both ends of the alley. Minutes had ticked by but no sign of _HIM. _But still she remained on high alert. Her level of discipline rivaled that of any military leader, which was part of why she was now in her current situation.

With the Browning clutched with great ferocity in her slender hands, she looked through the crack between the dumpster and wall.

_Shit…._

She had two choices: Stay and fight or run. Whatever she decided it would have to be instant as he was now getting closer to where she was concealed.

The wind howled through the narrow thorough way as the hunter edged closer to the hunted.

**Next update...Close encounter #1**


	4. Arc 1: Belgrade Part 3: Pursuit

_**A/N: **_I don't own anyone but my OC(s)…I wished I owned the rest…..*sighs*

**HOLY HELL! What is wrong with the Muse?! I do apologize for this delay as he has been going overboard lately...Apparently a very dirty one shot will be going on AFF at some point...But it will be Bourne/Alessa...I'm scared to put it here and have it deleted :(**

She closed her eyes and knew what needed to be done.

Kirill edged closer to her location, unaware of how close his query was. The shouts of the festival raged on just beyond canyon of brick and mortar but he shut the commotion with ease. Years of discipline and training with the KGB and FSB had fine tuned his listening capabilities. His breath pushed out forming short white puffs of moisture as his feet moved heel to toe.

She felt the fibers of muscle and tendon screaming ever louder as her calves had become now void of any sensation. Tremors rocked her legs and feet but she stayed frozen in place. Adrenaline trickled into her veins, silencing the aches and stinging at an agonizingly slow pace. She closed her eyes and briefly rested her forehead on the top of her weapon, looking as if she was saying a prayer. Through the wafting notes of music and celebration the faint crunch of snow penetrated her ears.

_That's it, just a few steps more….._ She silently urged him closer. Timing was crucial. It never ceased to be crucial for people like her. Milliseconds could make the difference between survival and a bullet between the eyes. She steadied her breath and focused on the rising sound of snow being crunched against the soles of his boots. Each footfall was careful and deliberate, as though he was navigating an imaginary mine field. Knowing this part of the world it probably wasn't too far from the truth. She had spent a great deal of time in the old Satellite States, becoming rather intimate with the way the Soviets conducted business. In some respects it was no different than the CIA's tactics she perfected over the years.

Suddenly the tracks went silent.

Her heart was now thundering despite her will to remain collective. What was he doing? Had he spotted her? No, it was impossible! Her hiding spot was well concealed. No, something or someone else had diverted his attention. To her left a door swung open filling the air with a drunken Baltic tune.

The man staggered down the dilapidated steps with bottle of cheap vodka in tow. He had no idea of what he had walked right into. Kirill silently swore and whipped behind a stack of crates as the drunk continued on with his song, horrid and out of key. It was grating upon his ears but quickly he shut it out. The stupid bastard had interrupted his hunt! If it wasn't for the throngs of people not even a hundred feet ahead of him, one bullet would be lodged in the back of the head.

She heard the man coming in her direction threatening to blow her cover. Of all the things to flush her out it had to be damned drunk! She had been in tighter predicaments before but she always made it a point not to become put in such a position in the first place. She was going to have to run or hold her ground.

The man continued his uneven path, pressing his lips to the top of the bottle and take in a deep meaningful swig. It blocked the cold and made him forget any of the horrors of 20 years before. It was better that way he supposed but at least the voices of the dead were muted. He continued towards the call of celebration unaware of the Pandora's Box that his innocent actions were about to open.

She looked up to see the man's shoes first followed by soiled rumpled denim leg, then another before the rest of his body caught up. The man paused and tilted his head, looking down with a set of alcohol glazed eyes. She knew the other one knew and broke from the corner like a bird taking flight.

Kirill saw the woman fleeing and charged down the alley, knocking over the hapless man along the way. His curses and shouting went unnoticed as the Russian had focused his energy on the woman ahead. He dared not open fire in the presence of so many as it would draw attention and that was the absolute last thing needed. The gun was back in its resting place but close enough for him to grab and take a shot. She was heading for the core of the gathering, a clever move on her part.

_You are not getting away…_

His adrenaline was pulsating through every vein, muscle, and nerve by this point, fueling his body onward the deeper he went. His keen eyes kept sight of the raven capped head even as she attempted to lose him through the lines of religious clerics and holy worshipers. The towering hats and scepters offered little protection as she pushed and sidestepped her way to the other end. The trains were not far off now and if she could catch it before he reached her she could live to fight another day. The horns of cars honking only provided further incentive for her to sprint harder and faster. There was no way she was going to let the dark haired stranger catch her.

Her feet pounded the snow down as she emerged from the moving river of bodies but didn't pause or dare look back. The station was within sight.

Kirill caught where she was headed and realized if she caught the train out he could lose her for good. And there was no way he was going to explain to Gretkov how he could let a woman slip away. But the woman was fast, like a deer through the woods only she was in an urban jungle.

She darted into the street narrowly avoiding being struck down by an oncoming taxi. The driver slammed on the brakes and hurled a string of curses and obscenities while shaking his hand out the window. Her hands slapped the hood giving her leverage to leap up and over the front earning her a few more seconds on him. A few pedestrians paused to watch the frantic woman who jumped over the vehicle and rolled across the remaining part of stone and snow before springing up and picking up her stride with ease. Kirill growled and rushed out earning the same courtesy from the taxi driver. She was a few blocks from the front entrance now; a few blocks from eluding him.

Her chest was burning but she couldn't surrender; not to him. Who knew what would happen if she lapsed long enough for him to catch up. The station grew larger on the horizon but she knew it wasn't over yet. Her breathing was short and fast coming, taking in enough oxygen to keep her body sated. Her final obstacle was one more street but it was clogged with parked cars and pedestrians. She charged on preparing to clear the last hurdle. She went straight for the smallest car, a Yugo, parked a length down from the doors. Kirill watched as she vaulted over the hood, sliding across the slick surface as the owner looked on with bewilderment lighting up her face. She landed on the walkway and continued on towards her destination. He circumvented the car seeing that she was beginning to slow and quickened his gait refusing to lose her in the crowd ahead.

The first sensation was warmth.

The second was the choir of voices and languages.

The third was the sound of the train departing.

"Damn it," she was helpless to do anything as the train exited the platform area. Her head snapped around searching for him. Now that she was stranded he was at an advantage.

Kirill had ducked behind a wall, seeing his prey was left behind. He studied her as she continued searching around for him. She was about five foot five with jet black hair that fell in perfect layers just below her shoulders. The well defined jaw and nose were not European but perhaps something else. But it was the eyes that struck him. A matching set of stunning cerulean that remained alert and observant of her surroundings. It was a shame Gretkov wanted her dead.

_Find who did this and eliminate them!_

She was probably pretty good in bed considering the lengthy chase she gave. He kept watch knowing she was staying in a crowd to avoid confrontation; until she could plot her next move.

_Your move….._

He silently urged her. As if she had heard him, the woman took a sharp right on her heels and headed for the tracks. Kirill kept a short distance wondering what it was she was contemplating. A few more steps closer, just enough to reach out and grab her by the arm and lead her out. It would be easy to wave off the anticipated fight and screams as her being a mental patient who had went off her medication before breaking out and wandering the streets. In this part of the world, no one asked questions.

She cut through the pillars of flesh and cotton, knowing her only way out would be to jump the tracks. It was dangerous but it was a necessary risk. Her feet crossed the tile and onto the smooth concrete. It was like crossing the Rubicon to her as she took a deep breath and gauged the distance to the tracks below then across the opposite end. Her muscles clenched in anticipation while a few beads of sweat broke out across her forehead. Before a foot could depart a sudden pressure around her bicep jerked her backwards and against a solid mass.

"Not a word," the heavy Russian accent cautioned in her ear.

"Who the Hell are you?" She quietly demanded.

Kirill stayed quiet while forcing her away from the edge and back towards the bitter cold. She could smell leather and something else, his scent perhaps. It was pleasing to her senses but immediately dismissed it.

"Where are we going?" She dug her heels into the snow the second he thrusted her out into the biting chill but the Russian continued moving, keeping her moving ignoring her demands. He knew Gretkov would like to meet the one who outsmarted them before a bullet went between her eyes. His hold intensified cutting the circulation off in her arm. She waited until they were down the steps and up the walkway and struck.

The first hit was across the solar plexus. A wave of pain fanned across his torso halting his progress.

The second was a fist along the jaw, clipping the right side of his jaw just before his lips.

She felt his hold over her vanish and seized her out. Her feet carried her up the street away from the shouting and and hollering of her temporary captor. Now there had been a scene as bystanders gawked with a few racing from the commotion. Sirens were gathering in the distance. Someone had called the police.

Kirill shook of the extreme discomfort of the attack and hurried after her.

She pivoted around the corner spotting a shop with the front door open. She burst through the weighty slab of ancient oak earning a few stares from patrons and the owner herself. She pounded up the stairs that led towards the residence of the owner. A child shrieked as an elderly man cradled him in his protective embrace as the strange woman barged through their home. She froze in the center of the room spotting a second set of steps leading up to the roof.

"Don't be afraid, I will not harm you," she shot up her hands in a show of disarmament then took off for the roof. The man craned his neck but didn't leave the kitchen watching the backside of the woman vanish up the narrow spiraling staircase. The snow had picked up as she kicked the door with a hard strike of her foot. The planks splintered against the force of her blow ushering in the frigid cold.

The tread of her boots kept her from sliding across the icy combination of stone and slush but there was no chance she could survive a leap from one unstable platform to another. If it had been dry there would be no hesitations but not with the Serbian winter. She was trapped. Knowing he wasn't too far behind she searched for a way out, even if it meant leaping over and landing on the top a car, a dumpster, anything that would cushion her fall. She gripped the freezing ledge, steadying her balance as she scoured the alleys below for her escape.

Kirill raced up the stairs taking two at a time as he ignored the startled civilians in the main floor shop. She had been this way. The same man and grandson were flattened in the rickety chair as the Russian swept by, ignoring them both. The cold air had begun to trickle across his cheeks and forehead confirming his target had indeed come through. Kirill halted at the second to last step, drawing his gun before taking a step out into the howling wind and driving snow. The opaque curtain of white would work to his advantage. He shoved the corner of the remaining slab with his toe and leapt out onto a seemingly vacant roof. Kirill knew better. He darted around the corner with gun out ready to fire. His eyes took in his surroundings looking for tracks as the snow was deep enough to blow her camouflage. He narrowed his eyes as he crouched closer to the snow, catching a depression that would be overlooked by the untrained eyes. It was a footprint; a small outline of a woman's boot or shoe. It didn't appear old as the grooves of the soles were visible in spots. She was still up here.

Specks of snow coated the dark short tresses and leather overcoat but Kirill dismissed the sensations as he tracked his prey around the corners and towards the Northwest ledge. The tracks stopped as the final one was a partial, as though she had jumped off the edge. Kirill peered over with gun pointed below expecting to see a woman with hair of midnight somewhere along the pipes or railing. Nothing.

She forced her body further against the dirty grimy bricks as her fingers threatened to let her go. It was the only part of the building that he couldn't see; couldn't see her concealed. The siding was wide enough for her toes to perch down as her fingers were precariously grappling to the siding overhead. Her eyes were closed as she relied on her hearing to pick up the shuffling and crunching diagonal to her. If she sneezed coughed or if a person walking by happened to look up and see her there it would be over. She could feel her fingers losing touch as the blood was deprived from the very tips. Her feet were teetering between cooperation and surrender as the demand she put on them started to turn more than the tiny bits of bone nerve and muscle could muster any more.

Kirill did a last sweep of the front and sides, hating to give up. He retreated away from the ledge and retrieved something from his left pocket. He flipped it on and stared at the image on the screen. The camera had caught a crystal clear image of his prey. Now he could put a name with the beautiful stranger's face. Even if she evaded him this time she wouldn't be out of reach for much longer.

"I am going to find you."

He took off back to the hotel he was staying in to learn more about his elusive query.

She opened her eyes as the sounds above had abated. Her fingers red and slipping by millimeters as were her toes. A drain was a foot to the right, going down before dropping off several feet over the alley. She willed her hand and foot to move permitting the relieving surge of blood and feeling to return. Her hand and leg curled around the solid fitting finding it was slightly loose but not enough to disengage from the wall. With her other foot she pushed off and clung to the narrow pipe while moving downward with tiny shifts in her hands and feet. The metal groaned in response to the additional weight but held tight. She reached the bottom then pushed off, feeling the air rushing around her like a streamline curtain but it was temporary as the ground came up and her knees bent to alleviate strain and prevent any injuries. She was going to need those knees and ankles.

Carefully rising she looked around before taking the back route back to her hotel. She was going to have to meet up with her handler later in the evening and needed to relax and rest up. Her stomach rumbled loudly as she realized she had not eaten since breakfast. Her watch read 16:43. Time flew when being chased by a good looking killer.

Kirill downloaded the photo into the laptop and immediately started the normal search protocols. This woman was no amateur for she knew where the scientist had been staying and how to get close undetected and then get out and be forgotten by the mark. Interpol yielded nothing along with the other major agencies he normally utilized. Someone knew who she was. He opened another window with the image centered on the screen. He snatched his phone up and made a quick call.

"Da," the voice on the other end greeted him.

"It's me. I need you to identify someone for me."

"A challenge?"

"Maybe," Kirill hit a few keys and the photo was on its way to the recipient.

"Got it," the voice announced. "She's gorgeous….."

"Find out who she is. I will be waiting."

Kirill hung up and peeled the holster from his back and shoulders. He needed to clean up, eat, and perhaps, if his contact was as good as he claimed he was, call Gretkov and say he had eliminated the threat. The FSB had discounted him as being on a permanent leave of absence after the painful agonizing recovery he endured after the nearly life ending car chase through the tunnels in Moscow. Bourne had gotten away, limped to the other end as his fellow FSB agents and local police and responded to the scene. Eight months in ICU and 10 months of painful humiliating therapy was what the fucking American had cost him. The head injuries were the longest to heal from as the broken ribs and collapsed lung had rebounded faster. It had burned to breathe even with the apparatus keeping his lung open, preventing it from rubbing against itself. A scar ran down the back of his neck with half disappearing under the short military style cut that covered his scalp. His coat covered the visible parts. Kirill thirsted for revenge but the day Gretkov called needing his services, Bourne was put to the side.

As he grabbed the bottom of the black sweater his phone went off.

"Da," he answered.

"It wasn't much of a challenge. I am disappointed."

"Get to the point," he growled with impatience.

"You are going to love this. She is a CIA assassin."

Kirill dropped on the couch as the last two words rang in his head.

_CIA assassin…_

**Again thank you followers and reviewers!**_  
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